Page 93 of Trust the Fall

“I just … I thought the queen …”

“Yeah, well … it’s not going to be a thing. Even if Camille demands it.”

Cat appears to ponder what I’ve said for a couple minutes, looking more confused by the second. “You don’t find him attractive?” she finally asks.

I smile. “It’s not that I don’t, but I love someone else. That matters more.”

She nods her head, but she doesn’t seem to be comprehending what I’m saying, so I change the subject.

“Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah, I think so. I have patrol shortly.”

Something crackles, and she grabs at her ears. “It’s an announcement,” she says in explanation.

That’s when I realize she’s wearing an earpiece.

“Okay boys, time to finish up. We have some preparations to work on.”

“Preparations?” Lee asks.

“Apparently there’s to be a ball tomorrow in your honor. The directive just came down from River, straight from the queen herself.”

“So the damsel’s finally awake?”

Lee snorts.

Cat looks between us, perplexed. “Awake?

“Never mind,” I say, not wanting to get into the specifics of what’s happened. “Lee, can you help me find my room? I’ll see you later, Cat.”

“See you later, princ—Tori,” she corrects, smiling shyly.

I wave over my shoulder. My mind is stuck on this ball. Reapers didn’t strike me as creatures who put stock in fancy shindigs. I’m definitely going to need a lot of rest if I’m to grin and bear a ball. Especially one in my honor.

RUN

I’m in a fresh level of Hell.

Two young reaper girls torture me with various forms of beautification, despite my every protest.

They were sent by the queen herself, tasked with making me presentable. I’m to be introduced to the whole of the kingdom, and Camille insists I look my absolute best.

Like she’d know what that even looks like.

I’ve hardly had more than fifteen minutes with my mother, and that didn’t exactly end well. I’m certainly not ready to meet her people.

The petite reaper with a black pixie cut curls one last piece of hair before stepping back and kissing her fingers like some chef at a human restaurant.

“You look incredible.”

Her Italian accent catches me off guard. This is the first time she’s spoken since she walked in the room.

I probably shouldn’t ask, but curiosity wins out. “What’s your story?”

“My story?” she asks, seeming startled at my having spoken.

“Yeah, you know … how did you come to be here?”